


Can't Stop

by digthewriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/pseuds/digthewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hates Malfoy and this has just got to stop. The sex. Not the hating. Because Malfoy is a git.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The scented candles were a bit much, Harry thought, but he also knew that Malfoy was mocking him. Harry had told him that this was the last time. After this, he wasn’t going to come by anymore, and they were going to _stop_.   
  
Harry had to stop.  
  
He couldn’t just continue a no-strings-attached sexual exploit with Malfoy. This wasn’t Harry. What Malfoy was doing to him…wasn’t Harry. What if Harry actually enjoyed being on his hands and knees as Malfoy pressed into him from behind. What if Harry kind of liked the way Malfoy held his hips and caressed his back gently after he’d spill inside Harry.  
  
This wasn’t love. Hell, it wasn’t even a relationship.  
  
Malfoy was, is, and always would be a complete git.  
  
He was selfish, still mean to everyone, and used his family money to get favours. Sure, he wasn’t doing anything illegal, and he wasn’t hurting anyone. But, it didn’t mean he was a nice person. He was _never_ a nice person. He was, forever and always, Malfoy.  
  
And Harry hated him.  
  
The first time they’d done this, it was mostly because Harry had thought that Malfoy would back down. He never did. He invited Harry all the way into his flat, poured them shots of Firewhisky, removed Harry’s clothes one at a time, and knelt down in front of him. He’d taken Harry all the way inside his mouth until the head of Harry’s cock pressed against the back of his throat. He’d been a fucking genius with giving head, and of course, had indicated so otherwise.  
  
Harry thoroughly hated him. And that was why this _had_ to stop.  
  
Harry groaned when Malfoy reached down and grabbed Harry’s erection, squeezing it tight. He knew Harry liked it like that, even though he’d never said so. Somehow, he just knew how Harry liked Malfoy to pump him in rhythmic motion as he came inside Harry.   
  
Whenever they were done with fucking, Malfoy just turned over and started to get dressed. Sometimes, he’d walk out into his balcony and light up a cigarette. He was never the cuddly type. He didn’t wish to stay in the bedroom and talk. Not that Harry wanted to stay and cuddle or talk, he just … He just felt used. If he stayed in the room after Malfoy returned, Malfoy never asked Harry why he was still there, but when Harry would go to leave, he never asked Harry to stay either.  
  
Maybe it was because Harry would have liked to be asked to stay. Not that he would have stayed. Because Malfoy was a wanker and Harry hated him.  
  
This was _going_ to stop!  
  
As Harry dressed to go home, knowing fully well that this was their last night ever. Malfoy didn’t simply turn over, got dressed, or walked out to the balcony.  
  
He lay in bed and watched Harry.  
  
Harry could feel Malfoy’s eyes roam all over him; they were practically burning a hole on Harry’s back.  
  
“What?” Harry asked finally when he couldn’t take it anymore. Now if he thought about it, it was better when Malfoy wasn’t in the room, there was less pressure on him.  
  
Malfoy shrugged and lit a cigarette in bed. “You’ll be back,” he said.  
  
Trouble was, Harry knew he was right.


	2. PART TWO: Stopping It

The first owl was predictable. The letter only had one word.  
  
_Tonight_?  
  
No, Harry wasn't going to go and see Malfoy tonight. Or any other night for that matter. He'd made up his mind, especially because of Malfoy's cocky attitude and being so certain Harry was going to go back to him.  
  
Their _engagements_ — for lack of a better word were nothing but a curiosity for Harry in the beginning. It was like Harry had an itch and Malfoy was there to scratch it. He'd kept going back, but there was a part of himself that he hated when he was with Malfoy. Simply good sex, okay, great sex, couldn't just be _everything_. He'd already established that Malfoy was a git, and he was never going to change.  
  
He'd often wondered what it was about Malfoy that had Harry going back. Sure, he liked the way Malfoy kissed him, not just his technique but it also made Harry feel like Malfoy never cared about kissing anyone else. He was harsh, rough, and unapologetically brutal at times while fucking Harry, but he was also careful and seemed to know when to stop before hurting him.  
  
And when they were done? If Harry had ever initiated embrace, would he have turned Harry down?  
  
Now he'd never know.  
  
-  
  
Two days later, Harry received another owl.  
  
_Silent Auction at the Royale to raise funds for a new wing at St Mungo's. I've booked a room at the hotel._  
  
Harry didn't attend.  
  
Ron and Hermione were surprised to know that Harry was staying home for the night, but thankfully, they'd not pressed on the matter. He hadn't wanted to go in the first place; he hated getting dressed up and having to socialise with people that only cared for his celebrity. He'd sent them a donation from his Gringotts vault, anyway. He didn't _need_ to be there.  
  
Instead, he decided to put in a surprise visit to Andromeda and Teddy and spent the night with his godson.  
  
-  
  
Things were quiet for sixteen more days. Harry had all but thought that finally Malfoy had got the message. Given how he'd not randomly run across Malfoy at the Ministry, even though he had no business being there, and there had been no more owls.  
  
On the seventeenth day, Harry received another owl.  
  
_Seriously, Potter_.  
  
Harry couldn't help himself this time. Would he admit to himself that maybe—he missed Malfoy? He knew that every night when he went to bed, alone, he stroked himself thinking only of Malfoy. His thoughts weren’t sweet or caring, but they were _of_ Malfoy. The way he fucked Malfoy's mouth after they'd had a nasty argument about Malfoy's latest business venture, or the way Malfoy insulted one of Harry's friends. Or the way Harry begged for a release and Malfoy would forbid Harry to touch himself until he was nearly in tears.  
  
Gods, Harry should have hated himself for the way Malfoy made him feel; the way Malfoy always tested and commanded him.  
  
No, Harry was going to be strong. He could never actually _be_ with someone like Malfoy. Even if Malfoy didn't seem to give a shite about Harry's celebrity, or despite the way Malfoy manipulated favours from everyone, never did he once ask Harry for anything. Outside the bedroom.  
  
Harry didn't send a reply.  
  
-  
  
Harry sat at the dingy Muggle pub he liked to go to, sat in his favourite dark corner, and drank his vodka and soda, minus the soda.  
  
It'd been twenty five days since he'd had sex. Two days since he'd laid a hand on himself thinking about Malfoy. He knew he looked like hell. He felt like it for sure. The only reason he was at the Muggle pub was because he didn't want to risk getting caught by a _Prophet_ reporter and having his current state become some sort of headline news.  
  
"Bloody hell you're hard to find," Malfoy said as he sat down next to him in Harry's dark corner.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry said. Shite, maybe he should've asked for a water three drinks ago.  
  
"You won't respond to my owls," Malfoy said, waving at the bartender and ordering "the same" as Harry. He turned to Harry after, "I don't have any Muggle money."  
  
Harry shrugged and threw a few bills in front of them.  
  
When Malfoy thanked him, Harry raised an eyebrow. "The last time you thanked me was when I attested for you and your mother at the Trials," Harry said, earning himself a sneer from Malfoy. Ah, there it was. Harry thought about how he'd almost missed it.  
  
"I suppose I should say...I realise now that assuming you'd be back was most likely a mistake."  
  
Malfoy's voice was so low, Harry had to strain himself to listen, and after that, he wasn't even sure if he'd heard Malfoy correctly.  
  
"So you're sorry?" Harry asked.  
  
Malfoy gave a curt nod and started to sip on his drink. He made a disgusted face immediately. "What the actual fuck is this drink, Potter?"  
  
"Cheap Muggle vodka," Harry said, dryly. When they were quiet for a while, Harry added, "I had told you that I wanted to stop."  
  
"That you did," Malfoy said, continuing to drink. "I honestly didn't think you'd meant it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Malfoy didn't say anything. When he emptied his glass, he asked for another.  
  
"You don't actually like me, Malfoy. I don't like you..."  
  
But was that even true? After Harry stopped seeing Malfoy, and after Harry'd started to have that itch again, he could have gone out and found himself a new man. But he hadn't. He'd ignored Malfoy and missed him at the same time. And Malfoy? Was this way of showing Harry that maybe he felt something too?  
  
The almost empty bar was getting more barren, and it wasn't long before Harry and Malfoy were only two of the handful of patrons left.  
  
"You liked the way I treated you. You might claim that you didn't like _me_ , but you certainly enjoyed being with me," Malfoy said when he finished the second drink.  
  
"You think I liked the way you _treated_ me? Fucking me, and then going off into the balcony to smoke a fag? To never actually caring or showing emotion to whether I stayed or I left? That I never spent the night?"  
  
"I never asked you to leave."  
  
"You didn't ask me to stay, either."  
  
"I can't change for you, Potter. I can't change for anyone. Not anymore. But—" He stopped abruptly and looked down at his empty glass.  
  
"But?"  
  
"I thought...maybe you could love me for the way I am." He looked at Harry with such openness that Harry forgot to speak. Even if he could speak, what would he have said?  
  
_No one can love you for the way you are, don't you understand_? Did Harry really believe that?  
  
"Why is that so important?" Harry asked, figuring he had to say something.  
  
"I thought, only you could do it. You would have the courage to love me like this." Malfoy got up and left. Harry simply sat there, staring at the empty seat next to him. He turned around and ordered another drink.  
  
When he got home, Harry picked up a parchment and sent a note off to Malfoy. He promised treats to his owl upon her return. The message was short and to the point. He reckoned he'd have to be.  
  
_Tonight_?  
  
This time Harry planned on staying the night.


End file.
